My boy Joe, who won't let an apocalypse get in the way of his relaxation.
Trading boots for stingray shoes, he adjusts
His panama hat, checks his reflection
And honks the horn. The camels jerk and grunt
Before leaning into their straps. The car
Soon rolls steady down the black-top. A flute
Plays back-and-forth with a tuba and drum
While he pours a drink and lights a cigar.
Noon shines tall and blue on the solar plates
Mounted hood and trunk. He reclines his seat,
Grins in the mirror and props up his feet.
Chapter Two, Verse Nine